


Love in Aisle Four

by ixalit



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes needs a break, Fluff, Grocery Clerk Steve Rogers, M/M, Meet-Awkward, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28805655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ixalit/pseuds/ixalit
Summary: When Bucky needs to swing by the supermarket after a long, hard day of work, the last thing he expects is to meet a cute grocery clerk named Steve…
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 60
Kudos: 222





	Love in Aisle Four

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [darter_blue](/users/darter_blue/) / [@darter-blue](https://tumblr.com/blog/darter-blue) for her wonderful beta work <3

Bucky is over it. Today, his job, the cold weather, running errands—all of it. 

After a full day of what felt like double the typical number of entitled clients, his brain had been officially fried when he’d clocked out. He had been walking down the street with his collar turned up against the biting wind, already counting the minutes until he could sink into his couch with a cold beer in his hand and _Golden Girls_ on the TV, when he remembered he had finished the last of his coffee that morning.

So here he is, a mere ten minutes later, standing in the near-empty supermarket under too-bright fluorescents, trying to remember the logos of his favorite coffee brands. Staring back at him are shelves upon shelves stacked with too many goddamn options. There seems to be every flavor imaginable, from hazelnut and whiskey to bacon and—Is that _snickerdoodle?_ Seriously, who the fuck drinks these? Bucky has been scanning them for far too long, just trying to find one that might be palatable. Preferably a plain dark roast, if they even make those anymore. 

There was an article he’d scanned through last week in one of those waiting room magazines about decision fatigue. Is this what it had been talking about? When you’ve made so many decisions in a day that the smallest task becomes an overwhelming mountain of pros and cons? He’s still trying to remember the end of the article—the part detailing how to _help_ decision fatigue—when a voice pulls him from his thoughts. 

“Can I help you find something?” 

“No thanks, I…” he starts automatically as he turns, but the words die on his tongue the moment he lays eyes on the speaker. 

Bucky swallows thickly, his eyes trailing down the man’s body without permission before he can stop himself. Men who look like _that_ shouldn’t be allowed to just walk up to you without warning. Or work in grocery stores. Or… exist. 

But, fuck, does this man exist. And in all the right ways, too. The first thing Bucky notices is his shoulders, broad and strong and stretching the seams of his slightly too-small t-shirt. And then there’s the guy’s waist. The uniform apron that shouldn’t look flattering on anyone hugs his narrow hips in a way that makes Bucky’s mouth water and irritation grow. The only guys he’s seen who have ratios like that are the ones on his old college campus who spent upwards of three hours a day in the gym. Those guys were, to put it lightly, complete and utter tools. 

But something about the man in front of him makes Bucky think he’s not like all those other guys. Maybe it’s his eyes. He’s got kind eyes. And a pretty face. 

Fuck, he’s got a very pretty face… 

He has that whole ‘blond-haired, blue-eyed’ thing going for him, complete with long eyelashes and full, pink lips, and Bucky is a man of few weaknesses, but he’s only human. He can’t drag his eyes away from those lips, can barely stop himself imagining how they might feel against his, or how they might look wrapped around his fingers, maybe something else... 

Bucky shakes that train of thought from his head and swallows roughly. He’s in a supermarket, for fuck’s sake. And besides. This guy, this—‘Steve,’ Bucky notes, glancing down at his name tag—probably wouldn’t be interested in him in a million years. Especially not now, when Bucky is sure he looks like a disheveled, sleep-deprived, anxiety-ridden workaholic. 

“Can I help you find anything?” the man _—Steve—_ repeats, now with the beginnings of a faint blush. Yeah, Bucky has definitely been staring too long. “It’s just that you’ve been standing here for a little while… Wanted to make sure you were, y’know, okay?” 

His voice tilts up at the end like he’s asking a question, and maybe Bucky’s ears are tricking him, projecting what he wants onto the situation, but it almost sounds like Steve is looking for Bucky’s approval.

_Christ, Barnes. Get your head out of your dick._

He may be a year into an arid dry spell, but he has to stop letting his mind run wild down these tracks. Now would be a _really_ inopportune time to get a stiffy. 

“Sorry. Yeah,” Bucky says dumbly, still caught up on how in the hell the world was so perfectly, horribly timed that he managed to meet someone like this when he’s tired and scatterbrained and probably resembles a homeless person more than a businessman. He clears his throat and gestures to the shelves beside him. “Just looking for some regular coffee. Something that will actually, um, taste like coffee? If you know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Steve says with a smile. “We try to carry local brands, but this is Brooklyn, so they’ve all gotta be somethin’ special.”

Bucky huffs a laugh and tries not to be too obvious about watching the muscles in Steve’s arm as he scans the shelves, muttering, “Let’s see here…” He has an adorable crease in his brow as he bites at his bottom lip. “Aha! Here we go. Some good old Allegro.” Steve squats down and peers back up at Bucky through those long, long lashes, and Bucky nearly bites through his tongue trying not to make a sound. “I’m gonna say you’re a… dark roast kinda guy. Right?”

“You got me,” Bucky says, hoping it comes out semi-normal and not as breathless as he feels. 

It’s true, though—Steve _does_ have Bucky. His attention, his curiosity… His desire. And he will definitely be making an appearance later tonight, when Bucky wraps a hand around himself and imagines all the ways he could take apart a man with golden hair, pretty blue eyes, and lips made for sucking dick.

Steve stands and hands him the bag. Bucky weighs it in his hand, turning it over to read the label. 

“Do you have a grinder?” Steve asks. 

“Uh, I just deleted it, actually,” Bucky says without thinking. “Why?” 

Bucky looks up to find Steve with a blush bright on his cheeks—shit, even his ears are red—and he has to silence the part of himself that wants to know just how far down that redness extends; the part that immediately thinks of a thousand and one ways he could get Steve that flushed…

That is, until Bucky’s brain catches up to his words. Now it’s his turn to blush. What if Steve recognized him? What if they’d talked? What if he’d been an asshole to Steve and Steve finally realized who he was and— “Oh god, you didn’t message me on there, did you?”

“No! No, I meant— The beans!” Steve stammers, and why does that have to be so fucking _cute?_ Steve covers up his laugh by clearing his throat and averts his eyes from Bucky’s. “I _meant,_ do you have a grinder for the _coffee beans?_ To grind them. For coffee.”

Oh. 

Oh, right. 

_Fuck._

Great. Just great. Steve was just trying to help an idiot customer find something right in front of him, and Bucky’s gone and suggested Steve is on a gay hookup app _and_ that he might have messaged Bucky. For all Bucky knows, the dude is straight. 

He closes his eyes and tries to remember one of those breathing exercises his therapist taught him, all the while silently praying for the earth to open up beneath his feet. He scrubs a hand over his face like it will do anything to erase the last minute. 

“Fuck, man. I’m sorry. I’m— It’s been a really long day. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve says with a self-conscious laugh as he rubs the back of his neck. At Bucky’s unconvinced grimace, he reaches out and lightly touches Bucky’s arm. “Really, it’s fine.” 

They hold so much sincerity, Steve’s words and his touch, that Bucky just about believes him. 

A moment of silence hangs in the air after Steve pulls his hand back, until he seems to steel himself. “Why did you delete it?” he asks. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, I, uh…” Bucky starts, catching himself before he lays out all his baggage at Steve’s feet. 

The truth is, after his and Brock’s breakup last year and the shitstorm of epic proportions that followed, Bucky had become a bit closed off (Sam’s exact words were “a grouchy hermit”). Only after Sam had kicked Bucky’s ass into gear and convinced him of the existence of more than one fish in the sea had Bucky conceded to download the stupid app. Sam said it would be good, at least get him to loosen up a bit. 

But after six months of rude, demanding pricks and unsolicited pictures with bad lighting and worse angles, none of them had gone much further than a text conversation. And now, he may have all but given up on finding someone. So he deleted the app and dramatically resigned himself to a life of spinsterhood. 

Instead of laying all that on the most eligible guy he’s met in years, Bucky decides on a safer route. “No reason in particular,” he tells Steve. “Guess I just wanted a change.” 

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Steve asks in such a quiet voice, and Bucky couldn’t possibly have heard that right. 

“What?” He must be reading into things again, twisting the meaning of Steve’s words to fit his desire.

“Nevermind,” Steve says quickly. “That was— Stupid. And inappropriate. I’m sorry. You’re not… I’ll just… Shit.”

And then Steve turns and starts walking away, and Bucky is trying to remember when he fell asleep because no way is this happening in real life. Maybe he’ll wake up back at the office, face down in a pile of papers with ink marks faint on his cheek.

He pinches his opposite hand hard, and fuck. Yeah, he definitely felt that. That means he can’t be dreaming, right? And if he’s not dreaming, and if Steve really asked him if he was _single,_ could he mean… “Wait!” 

Steve turns—and Jesus, he really does look pretty when he blushes.

Bucky catches up to him in quick strides down the empty aisle. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, no. I’m not seeing anyone. But if that was going where I think it might have been going and if you were gonna ask what I think you were gonna ask, then the answer’s yes.”

Steve's smile is small and it lights up his face. 

“Yeah? Well, first I was going to ask your name—”

“Bucky. I’m Bucky.” 

Steve laughs, and it’s almost a giggle. “Well then, Bucky” —Bucky’s breath stutters at the sound of his name rolling off Steve’s tongue— “I was going to ask if you wanted to go out sometime. I know a little coffee shop around here with some good _normal_ coffee. Unless that’s not what you thought I was going to ask, in which case I’ll leave you alone and—”

“It is,” Bucky breathes. “And the answer is still yes.” 

Steve’s smile grows and spreads to his whole face, lighting up his eyes. “Tomorrow? I have Saturdays off, so any time works…”

“Tomorrow’s good. Two?”

“See you then,” Steve says, and he’s looking at Bucky in a way that no one has in a long time. A way that makes him feel seen. “I should probably get your number.” 

“Right. Yeah. Yes.” 

Bucky sticks the bag of coffee under his arm to type his number into Steve’s proffered phone, and when he hands it back, their fingers brush. He might as well be some Victorian maiden, the way his heart races at the brief contact. Steve quickly types something into his phone before meeting Bucky’s eyes with a delighted smirk. 

When Bucky’s phone vibrates and he pulls it out, there are two texts from an unknown number. The first is the name of a coffee shop he thinks he recognizes. The second is a single peach emoji. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow and laughs. He’s aware he’s probably staring at Steve like he wants to skip the date and go straight to dessert, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to reign it in. He can wait, though. He _wants_ to wait. He wants to get to know Steve and hear about his life and see more of that pretty pink on his cheeks. 

Yeah, Bucky can wait. He can go home and wonder how he got so lucky. And he can fantaize tonight, knowing that it’s not just a fantasy—that he’ll see this bright, awkward, young god of a man tomorrow. 

Like his mother always taught him: the longer the wait, the sweeter the prize.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, and shares are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> Come scream with me on Tumblr [@ixalit](https://ixalit.tumblr.com)


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